


what is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?)

by cywscross



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Amputation, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Scars, UraIchi Week 2018, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: “I didn’t ask you to!”“You didn’t have to.”--Or, the greatest sacrifices make the most painful gifts.





	what is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?)

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 2 of UraIchi Week 2018.
> 
> I MADE IT. I WROTE THIS IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS AND IT'S LESS THAN STELLAR BUT DAMN IT I MADE IT ON TIME.

 

The area is is a beehive of frantic activity. Tension hangs heavy in the air. The loud muddle of voices only adds to the chaos.

Ichigo perches, barefoot, a dozen feet away on a slab of concrete broken off from one of the numerous crumbling buildings all around them, listening to Yoruichi yell for Unohana even as she tries to slow the blood flow spilling from Urahara’s back. Between all the Shinigami running back and forth, he catches a glimpse of the shopkeeper, limp on the ground, shirt and haori torn aside, two ragged stumps protruding from his back.

There’s a lot of red, enough to stain the ground around him.

Ichigo looks around again. He’s been gone three months, technically, but if his math is right, it’s only been about two hours here.

Two hours since Aizen left with Gin.

Two hours since the last Espada have all fallen to the Shinigami.

And two hours since Aizen burnt off both of Urahara’s wings and left him to die. With Yoruichi unconscious and anyone else who might be able to help occupied with their own battles or injuries and too far away to hear him scream, Ichigo’s surprised the shopkeeper is even still alive. In a twisted sort of way, burning the wings off and thereby slowing the bleeding was probably what allowed him to hang on until now, although Aizen probably did it to make Urahara suffer longer. It seems like a thing he would do.

Ichigo didn’t know, earlier. He wouldn’t have let his dad drag him off if he did, at least not before fetching Unohana.

He glances down at where he dumped Goat-Face upon exiting the Dangai. The man is stirring but not quite awake yet. He wonders if Isshin knew. He had to have known, right? They were fighting the same battle while Gin was toying with Ichigo.

He sighs and looks again at Urahara. Hachi’s there, but there’s not much he can do one-handed. Kira is slumped beside him, clearly exhausted. Ichigo didn’t even know the guy knew any healing Kidou. And Yoruichi is split between demanding Unohana’s presence and hissing curses at Urahara even while green Kidou sputter clumsily from her hands to the horrifying wounds on his back.

But Unohana is busy with Ukitake, from what Ichigo’s overheard. She saved Hiyori first, the one in the most critical condition at the time, and then moved on to Ukitake.

There’s no way Unohana - as a Shinigami - will pick Urahara over the Thirteenth Division captain, no matter how dedicated a healer she is or how bad Urahara’s condition is getting. She probably wouldn’t have even healed Hiyori before Ukitake if she didn’t come upon the Visored first.

Movement flits in the corner of his eye. Ah, there she comes now, gliding through the rubble scattered about the town on a pair of regal black wings. Her expression is as serene as ever but there’s a grimness in her expression - a runner’s probably already informed her of the situation - that only deepens when she finally catches sight of Urahara.

“He has lost his wings?” Unohana enquires the moment she’s within earshot, although it’s barely question. Everybody’s eyes fall briefly - and avert almost as quickly - to the blackened remains dumped off to the side a few feet away where Aizen presumably tossed them, like garbage. The once brilliant crimson-bright wings look more like misshapen pieces of charcoal now than anything resembling feathers.

“Can you heal him?” Yoruichi half-snarls, looking more tiger in that moment than the housecat she likes pretending to be, and the deep purple wings arching from her back and curling defensively around her is a jarring sight.

Unohana’s lips thin as she sits down beside Urahara and peers at his back. She takes over the crude healing Yoruichi was attempting earlier but the bright flare of her reiatsu doesn’t even make Urahara twitch. “Even if I could, perhaps it would be kinder if I did not. Very few survive the loss of their wings. You know this, Shihouin-san.”

Yoruichi bares her teeth, hands clenching into fists in her lap. “There are ways, prosthetics-”

“He would need to be fitted first, and I have no equipment on me anyway,” Unohana interjects, not unkindly but brisk enough that everyone can see just how dire a state Urahara is in. “And…” She surveys the bloody mess in front of her with an experienced eye. “There is no way I can move him back to Soul Society without killing him in the process. He is already on the brink of death. Moreover, prosthetics are not a guarantee. They cannot replace real wings. In the best-case scenario, _if_ he survives the journey, and _if_ he survives the surgery itself, it would only buy him a few months, perhaps a year, before he succumbs to the psychological trauma. It has always been so when a person loses their wings. And even if he does not,” She adds when Yoruichi opens her mouth, probably to argue exactly that. “Even if he is mentally able to come back from this, he will never properly fly again.”

She falls silent. At her side, Yoruichi’s jaw is tight enough that Ichigo is surprised she hasn’t broken a tooth with how hard she’s gritting them.

Isshin flops over with a groan. Nobody notices except Ichigo.

( _He notices everything. The steady thrum of Hiyori’s reiatsu halfway across the town. The struggling reiatsu signature of one the Espada as they rip open a Garganta and flee with three others. The sluggish fluctuations of Urahara’s pulse, straight ahead. Benihime’s fear and fury in her sheath._

_The gaping emptiness in his own mind, in his own soul._ )

“Where-” Isshin grouses, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Ichigo ignores him, attention glued to Urahara’s too-still form.

“He will not survive the trip back to Seireitei, Shihouin-san,” Unohana is saying, a decisive lilt in her steady voice. “I can prevent infection from setting in, or I can make his passing painless. I believe those are your only options now.”

“Ichigo, what are you doing here?” Isshin exclaims abruptly. When Ichigo finally glances at him, the man is glaring at him sternly. “Aizen’s gone to Karakura! You should be there right now! You need to stop him! I didn’t teach you the Final Getsuga Tenshou just for you to sit around cooling your heels!”

Ichigo blinks slowly before turning back to where Yoruichi is wearing the mutinous expression of someone desperate for a solution.

“He can wait a little while longer,” He says without much interest.

Isshin splutters. “You can’t-”

“Did you know?” Ichigo cuts him off, nodding in Urahara’s direction, and Isshin follows his gaze like he’s only just realizing what’s going on. “Did you know Aizen burned Urahara-san’s wings off?”

Isshin stiffens, and his face pulls into a mulish frown. “Aizen is what’s important right now, Ichigo. It’s your job to stop him. You’re the only one who can. It’s what Kisuke would want you to do.”

“That’s a yes then,” Ichigo supplies blandly, and he doesn’t bother injecting any accusation in his voice but Isshin flushes a dull red anyway as he leaps to his feet.

“You need to defeat Aizen!” Isshin snaps, looming over him. “That’s why you’re fighting, remember? You don’t have time to be sulking at someone’s deathbed like a weak-minded coward. Now get going!”

A fist swings for his head, and it isn’t anything new. Ichigo catches the blow with one hand though, and the impassive look he pins the man with makes even Isshin falter.

With one push, Ichigo shoves Isshin back hard enough to make him stumble before falling on his ass.

“I said,” Ichigo reiterates in detached tones. “Aizen can wait.”

( _He can. Far out, at the very edges of Ichigo’s senses, Soul Society glows faintly in his mind’s eye, and Karakura Town is nestled in one corner. Aizen is by far the most powerful being in the vicinity, a supernova compared to everything around him, while Gin’s reiatsu coils tight beside him, streaked through with something anticipatory, curled around a solid core of hatred._ )

He looks at the severed wings, at the little he can see of Urahara, at Yoruichi’s bowed head. He lets his gaze drift even as he listens to the helpless, turbulent grief in Benihime’s silent scream.

( _He wonders if Zangetsu would’ve screamed, if he didn’t waste his last breath telling Ichigo how much he cared._ )

He looks at those lifeless wings once more. After Rukia gave him her powers, he read all the books Urahara gave him about the extra appendages he gained. A physical representation of every soul, with colours that vary from person to person. He read about how proud people tend to be of their wings. About how Shunpo is for battle but true flight is something to be enjoyed, to show off, to fall in love with from the moment they first take to the skies. About the disrespect of touching another’s wings without permission, short of an emergency.

About how devastating it is to lose them. A part of your soul, gone.

The numbers come back to him now. One in two hundred people survive the removal of their wings. Of those who survive, one in five hundred manage to live beyond a few years. No one has ever _not_ committed suicide because of that loss eventually.

Prosthetics help, to a degree. A person can hover and even glide for a short distance with them but it’s nowhere near the same as true flight. And it doesn’t cancel the loss, even if the weight of it serves as something of a crutch for a while.

The only known method that would save a soul who’s lost their wings while guaranteeing a near one hundred percent survival rate is-

“There has to be another way,” Yoruichi’s voice rises, not quite shrill but close.

Unohana glances at her, then inclines her head, “There is, as you well know. Are you volunteering?”

Yoruichi actually flinches back. So does every other Shinigami who heard the captain.

The only known method, rare and borderline taboo, and looked upon with a certain amount of horror, is transplanting the wings of one person onto another.

Disregarding risks like incompetent healers or dying of other injuries, the recipient usually survives, and their reiryoku will naturally integrate the new wings as their own. But wings aren’t like organs. They’re the first things to go upon a soul’s death, almost instantaneously, long before the body crumbles. They can’t be donated postmortem. There just isn’t time.

Only twenty-seven people have ever been recorded to receive wings from willing donors. Every last one of those donors died, some as soon as a few hours after the surgery, others as long - comparatively - as a decade. But they all committed suicide in the end.

Ichigo has watched Yoruichi fly before, and he knows why she says nothing now, why she won’t. This is probably the one thing Yoruichi won't do for her oldest friend, _can’t_ , because she needs her wings like she needs to breathe, and cutting them off is like cutting off a piece of her soul.

Whatever else Yoruichi has sacrificed, for her clan, for her fellow Shinigami, for her friends, she has never had to give up her freedom. She would still have Shunpo if she loses her wings, but she’ll never fly again.

“...Tessai might,” Yoruichi eventually says in a low rasp of a voice.

Unohana glances between her and Urahara. “He is in Karakura Town, correct? The real one? Even if he agrees, and he slips past Aizen Sousuke successfully, he will most likely not make it in time.”

Yoruichi closes her eyes.

Ichigo keeps his open and leans back on his hands to stare up at the sky. In his peripheral, he sees the tips of his own wings, and some part of him thinks it should be funny, that he even still has them when he’s already given up half his soul.

He pushes off his hands and sighs once more.

Well.

It’s not like he’ll even need them in a couple hours. Maybe less.

( _But he loves flying too. It was the best part of his powers, in his opinion, better than Shikai and Bankai and more reiatsu than he knows what to do with. Rukia teased him about it, asked him if he was half-bird, with the amount of time he spent flying at night, patrolling the town but also teaching himself how to dive and soar and hear the roar of the wind of his ears._

_But he’s never going to need them again, after today. Urahara will, and Ichigo cares enough about him that sacrificing one more thing isn’t such a hard decision after all._ )

He rolls onto his feet, and with barely a thought, he’s disappeared and reappeared a foot away from Urahara. He looks even worse up close, his back nothing but raw charred flesh where his wings were once attached, and even unconscious, his colourless face is strained with agony.

( _His reiatsu flickers, flickers, flickers. Benihime howls at him, at Ichigo, at the world, demand and plea all in the same breath._ )

They look at him, startled. He thinks they didn’t even know he was here, which isn’t so strange. They can no longer sense his reiatsu after all.

( _Is this what Aizen meant, when he spoke of godhood and transcendence and the power to stand above all?_ )

“Kurosaki-san?” Unohana prompts, but when he looks at her, she gazes back with something that’s equal parts knowing and pensive.

“He can have mine,” Ichigo says without beating around the bush. “He can have my wings. We’re about the same size so mine should be a good fit, right?”

More than one person gasps. Yoruichi’s eyes widen. Ichigo doesn’t look away from Unohana, who watches him with unblinking eyes, her black wings utterly still behind her.

“You are technically still a minor,” She says at last.

Any other time, Ichigo would’ve laughed in her face. As it is, he only quirks a half-smile devoid of humour. “I’m fighting in a Shinigami war. Calling me out for being a minor now is a bit like closing the barn doors long after the horses have reached the other side of the country, don’t you think?”

For the first time, the faintest hint of a frown touches Unohana’s face but she doesn’t disagree.

“Ichigo-” Yoruichi starts like she wants to protest, only to stop when her gaze falls to Urahara again.

Ichigo shrugs, then shrugs again to strip out of the top half of his Shihakushou as he lowers himself to the ground. “It’s fine. It’s my choice. It’s not like I can see them half the time anyway, and I grew up fine without them the first fourteen years of my life. I’m human, remember? I don’t think I need wings as much as you Shinigami do.”

There are thoughtful noises all around. Except Unohana. Something dark lurks behind the calm in her eyes, pressing forward and watching him and weighing his decision.

From behind Ichigo, Isshin suddenly blusters, “I won’t allow it. You shouldn’t even be here, Ichigo. You should be-”

He shuts up, not because of Ichigo this time but because Unohana slants a look over Ichigo’s shoulder, shadows gathering into a frightening cast over her otherwise unruffled mien. She says nothing, but she doesn’t have to.

When she looks at Ichigo again, she tells him, “It is your choice. Do you know the risks?”

Ichigo nods. “Yeah, I read about them. It’s fine. Just...” He reaches again for Soul Society, for Aizen hovering at the edge of the town. There’s still time, but not much. Urahara has even less. “I need to leave right after this. How soon can you finish the transplant?”

To her credit, Unohana doesn’t waste either of their time with pointless questions. “...The burns Urahara-san sustained will make it slightly more complicated but I don’t expect it will take more than two hours.”

“Two hours’ too long,” Ichigo says bluntly.

Unohana considers him for a moment. “Two hours if you stay until I am certain the wings are fully integrated with Urahara-san and his condition is more or less stable. But twenty minutes to remove your wings and place them in stasis before I work on attaching them to Urahara-san. It will be crude work but I can do it. However,” She adds sharply. “I was planning on putting you to sleep. If you intend to leave immediately after, I cannot do that. Neither can I numb your nerves to relieve the pain, at least not for long. As soon as I remove your wings, I must begin working on transplanting them onto Urahara-san.”

Ichigo nods curtly. “Fine, let’s get to it. Where should I sit? Or lie down?”

Unohana stares at him for a few seconds longer, then glances at Hachi and Kira. “Kira-fukutaichou, Ushouda-san, I will need extra hands.”

Kira blanches, and Hachi turns a shade paler, but after a hard look from Ichigo himself, they shuffle around to stand beside Unohana.

“Kurosaki-san, please move here. Lean forward and spread your wings.”

 

 

Ichigo obeys. As he kneels and gives his back to Unohana, he catches Yoruichi’s gaze and half-grimaces, half-smiles. “It’s fine, Yoruichi-san.”

Yoruichi’s eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t do this.”

Ichigo scoffs out a breath of laughter. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”

Yoruichi doesn’t meet his eyes again.

“This will hurt,” is Unohana’s last warning to him.

Ichigo only flares his wings wide. He doesn’t tell her that losing Zangetsu already felt like someone ripped his heart out. Compared to that, ripping off a few wings can’t possibly be any worse.

 

* * *

 

In the aftermath, he staggers to his feet, claps Kira - who looks about ready to faint or puke, pale blue wings quivering behind him - on the shoulder, and deliberately doesn’t look at the blood-splattered scene behind him. Unohana was efficient and precise about the amputation, but hardly clean about it. She’s also emitting so much Kidou to keep contamination at bay that it’s actually getting a little hard to breathe.

Or maybe that’s just an aftereffect of essentially getting two of his limbs chopped off.

Still, as promised, nineteen minutes later and he’s free to walk away.

“Our hopes go with you, Kurosaki-san,” Unohana murmurs even as she turns back to Urahara. “And do remember: if Aizen-san kills you before I finish, Urahara-san will die as well.”

Ichigo wheezes out a laugh. “Got it, Unohana-san. Thanks.”

He takes a step, two, and then he’s gone.

Shunpo still works at least.

If his back feels like it’s on fire and strangely ( _agonizingly_ ) weightless, well, it isn’t as if he isn’t already running on half a soul and borrowed time anyway.

A lack of wings really doesn’t matter anymore.

 

* * *

 

Kisuke wakes with a jolt. He gets a dizzying sense of vertigo as he jerks upright, sucking in a breath, his mind feeling oddly adrift. What happened-?

Oh.

Aizen.

Oh god, the flames, his _wings_ , they’re-

“ _Breathe_ , Kisuke!” Yoruichi barks, and it’s practically reflex for Kisuke to obey. He gasps in another breath, then another, until his head clears a little, enough to realize that… he’s no longer in any pain. He _aches_ something fierce, from head to toe, and he feels exhausted, but…

He looks down. He’s been stripped out of his shirt, and there’s gauze wrapped around his torso. His shoulders carry a familiar weight, and it’s a relief to be able to flex his wing muscles and feel the appendages respond.

When he looks up again, he finds Yoruichi on his right, with Unohana beside her.

_Oh_.

“You saved my wings,” Kisuke says, and overwhelming gratitude wars with surprise inside him. Aizen set him on _fire_. Set his _wings_ on fire. He thought for sure he wouldn’t be waking up again, and by the time he lost consciousness, that was more of a relief than anything else.

He’s heard all the horror stories about being wingless. Researched it too. He doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to bear it.

He also doesn’t know why Yoruichi won’t look at him all of a sudden, or why Unohana is watching him like that, with an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I did not save your wings,” Unohana denies plainly.

_Sympathy_ , Kisuke realizes, and something cold enters his chest. He still has his wings. Are they crippled or-?

“Urahara-san,” Unohana says almost too gently. “You should… look at your wings.”

Kisuke blinks at her, then - slowly, with a growing sense of dread - he brings his wings forward, turns his head, just a little, and looks.

For a long minute, he has no idea what he’s looking at. It simply doesn’t compute.

His wings are red. They’ve always been red, sleek and bold and beautiful. Some people used to whisper about them, the colour of blood like the stains on his hands, like his sins turned inside-out, but Kisuke’s never cared. They’re Benihime’s colour, and he could never be anything but proud of her.

The wings he has now are a shocking white, offset only by the palest of gold laced through each barb of the covert feathers if you look closely enough. They’re soft and fluffy-looking, the way you thought summer-day clouds might feel like when you were still a child and didn’t know better, and they’re large and whole, more than enough to take his weight.

Absurdly, Kisuke’s first coherent thought is that the shock and stress must have turned his wings white, like hair can after a traumatizing incident.

But that’s ridiculous, wings don’t work that way, and… and he _knows_ these wings. He’s seen them, for months, glorious and expansive, classic angel’s wings that - ironically - most people don’t have.

_So what are they doing on his back?_

He knows. Of course he does. As soon as he recognizes them, he knows. It’s just that his entire being rebels at the very realization, and something in him thinks he’s going to be sick.

“He gave me his-“ Kisuke croaks faintly. One second, two, and then his anger surges. “ _You let him give me his wings?!_ ”

“It was his choice,” Someone - Unohana, or maybe Yoruichi - says to him.

Kisuke barely hears them. He stares at his- at _Ichigo’s_ wings, and then he remembers the plan, _his_ plan, Aizen and the war and Isshin telling him - years ago - about the Final Getsuga Tenshou, and-

He twists to one side and promptly heaves up the meager contents of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

_Always a contingency plan_ , Ichigo thinks with a hazy sort of amusement as he sits on a conveniently nearby rock and takes a breather. He tries to blink away the darkness creeping into his vision but it doesn’t really work.

In front of him is a vaguely star-shaped structure where Aizen once stood, probably some kind of seal. He knows Urahara’s reiatsu signature well enough by now to recognize his work. Aizen probably isn’t dead, but Ichigo weakened him enough for the seal to trap him, and it’s just like Urahara to predict this outcome.

He sighs and slumps a little. He thinks he should hurt more - every second of his fight with Aizen was a pain in more than one sense - but all he feels now is numb exhaustion.

The world is quieter like this, as if the battle sucked all the noise from their surroundings. If not for the fact that Ichigo is sitting in broad daylight, he could almost imagine Karakura at night, everyone asleep, no Hollows roaming, just him and the moon and all that open space to fly.

He lists sideways and catches himself with an elbow to his thigh just in time to prevent a tumble to the ground. He’s so tired. Finding his bed sounds like an excellent idea right about now, but even just standing feels like it would take too much energy. Maybe he could just lie down right here? Surely someone will find him sooner or later, or he could just take a nap first and go home afterwards.

He blinks again and everything swims out of focus. It doesn’t get better. The ground is just a brown blur beneath his feet, and his head feels too heavy to lift.

It takes a moment to realize that the world has darkened, and not just because he’s pretty sure he’s on the brink of passing out. Last he checked, it was sunny, and it _is_ still bright enough to be daytime, but something’s passed overhead and blotted out part of the sun. Clouds maybe? He hopes it won’t rain. He doesn’t have an umbrella with him, and it will be more work for Yuzu if he goes home with wet clothes.

He blinks. He’s not quite sure if he manages to open his eyes again.

He just…

…wants to…

He slumps against something soft, and it takes far too long to realize that his body has finally decided to give out. Except he hasn’t hit the ground because…

He can barely move anymore but some part of his brain is still working just enough to notice the hands on his shoulders and the soft fabric of the shirt he’s done a face-plant into.

He peels his eyelids open and glances up blearily. Large white wings catch his attention first, and even folded back, he can see the way the high curve of one wing half-obscures the sun and gilds the leading edge gold.

“Oh,” He mumbles almost nonsensically. “It worked.”

The warm hands at his shoulders tighten, and a sharp intake of breath draws his attention. Familiar grey eyes full of anguish stare back down at him, and that’s the last thing Ichigo sees before oblivion finally takes him.

 

* * *

 

For a solid two weeks, Kisuke bars entry to his shop from all except Tessai and the kids. He can’t exactly kick out Ururu and Jinta, and even Kisuke can’t go two weeks without sleep no matter how much coffee he drinks so Tessai takes over sitting vigil at Ichigo’s bedside whenever Kisuke catnaps. It doesn’t hurt that Tessai is better at healing than Kisuke, and from the moment Kisuke came home with white wings on his back and a comatose Ichigo in his arms, Tessai put two and two together and hasn’t stopped fussing over Ichigo since.

Kisuke can’t decide if Unohana truly outdid herself this time or performed her shoddiest work to date. On one hand, there isn’t any risk of infection, as far as both of them can see, and even the battle against Aizen didn’t rip open Ichigo’s back again. On the other hand, wing removal - when done correctly - should take even the best healers at least an _hour_ to carry out, not twenty minutes, certainly not without so much as a shot of morphine, and definitely not allowing the patient to walk into a suicidal death-match immediately after.

There are now two jagged scars that stretch from the base of Ichigo’s neck, over his shoulder blades, and down two-thirds of his back, deep and harsh and messy. Unohana prioritized speed, going only slow enough to make sure the wings came off intact and operational, but no slower, and Ichigo paid that price too.

It makes Kisuke want to lash out, at Unohana for agreeing to it at all, at Yoruichi who didn’t stop Ichigo.

But who is Kisuke to point fingers and throw stones, after everything he’s done to ensure Ichigo would make the perfect weapon against Aizen? Unohana did what Ichigo asked of her and probably saved Kisuke’s life in the process. And Yoruichi would never have refused.

The wings on Kisuke’s back have never been heavier. Sometimes, in the moments between sleeping and waking, disoriented with shapeless nightmares full of Ichigo’s accusing eyes, he thinks the weight of them might actually crush him.

Once, he thinks, because that’s just how his brain works, it thinks _everything_ , including, _Kurosaki-san won’t even be able to see Shinigami when he wakes up so does it really matter?_

He makes a halfway decent attempt at drowning himself in the shower after that thought.

Ichigo sleeps on. His reiryoku disappears bit by bit, running out like sand in an hourglass. He gets a fever midway through the second week that climbs higher and higher and doesn’t go away until two days into the third.

Yoruichi slinks back in at the end of the third week Ichigo is still unconscious.

“I’m not sorry,” is the first thing she bites out.

They end up destroying half the shop until Tessai traps them in separate Kidou cages for six hours and refuses to let them out until their stomachs are growling and they need a bathroom break.

Kisuke lets her stay. Yoruichi spends her afternoons snoozing next to Ichigo and flashing her claws at Jinta when he’s too loud. They don’t bring it up again.

Rukia stops by, once, asking after Ichigo. Kisuke lets her in, and she leaves with the knowledge that Ichigo won’t be able to see her when he wakes up. Kisuke wonders if she’ll visit again.

The Visored don’t come by. Last Kisuke hears, they’ve all been given pardons, and the Soutaichou has extended job offers to all of them.

Ichigo’s human friends stop by a few times, worried about his condition. Isshin doesn’t show his face. Kisuke isn’t sure what he would do if he _did_ , but it would probably consist of something that would make him a hypocrite. He’s not sure what Isshin tells his daughters but they don’t show up either.

Only one other Shinigami drops by. Kira Izuru of all people knocks tentatively on his door one day and asks after Ichigo. Kisuke wasn’t even aware they even knew each other, but Kira just mutters something about patients and professional follow-ups, and he seems torn between staring at Kisuke’s ( _Ichigo’s_ ) wings and avoiding any glimpse of them at all costs. He too leaves after seeing Ichigo and with a denreishinki Kisuke asks him to pass on to Unohana.

Kisuke contacts Unohana on the fourth week.

“Can I give them back?”

_“You know you cannot. A wing donor loses the capacity to integrate a new pair of wings once their first have been surgically removed. Even I cannot attach appendages to dead nerves and scar tissue._ ”

“...I see. Thank you, Unohana-taichou.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye.

Ichigo wakes up at the end of one month.

 

* * *

 

It takes Ichigo almost a week before he regains enough strength to be able to sit up for more than a few minutes and eat solid food.

Urahara’s explained everything to him by this point. He’s back in his body, and Urahara, Tessai, and even Yoruichi when she’s around all wear gigai around him now. Jinta and Ururu too.

He’s grateful. Their company takes his mind off the gaping emptiness in his chest.

He can’t see wings anymore, the ones he gave away or anybody else’s. The one time he asks Urahara if they’re there, if they work properly, the shopkeeper freezes and stares at him for a long minute with an unreadable expression before nodding stiffly and assuring Ichigo that they work fine and that Urahara is taking good care of them.

Ichigo thanks him, and Urahara looks at him like Ichigo’s just punched him in the face. He leaves the room a moment later.

Ichigo doesn’t bring it up again.

Urahara does.

 

* * *

 

“You should be all healed now, as much as you can be,” Kisuke says, unravelling the last of the bandages.

Ichigo bounces up from his seat, more energetic than Kisuke’s seen him in weeks. The boy stretches, absently rolling his shoulders with a frown but smiling briefly anyway. “Thanks, Urahara-san.”

Kisuke has to suppress a flinch, nodding instead. “Of course. Will you be going home now?”

Ichigo shrugs as he pulls on his shirt before they both make their way to the door. “I probably should. No matter what Goat-Face told the girls, Karin and Yuzu aren’t stupid. They’ve probably already guessed that I’m wrapped up in ghost business again, and I don’t want them to worry.”

He pauses, like it’s just occurred to him that he’ll never be wrapped up in ghost business again.

“Has Rukia come around again?” He asks suddenly. “While I was asleep or something? Or Renji? Or Hirako or any of the others?”

Kisuke hides a grimace. “I’m afraid not. But they’re bound to be busy with cleanup.”

It’s a weak excuse even to his own ears but Ichigo only nods. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He goes back to putting his shoes on. “Anyway, I’ll get outta your hair now. Thanks for taking care of me for so long. I’ll-”

“Why did you do it?” Kisuke interrupts him, the question bursting forth in a way that makes his inner assassin cringe with disgust.

Ichigo goes still, one hand on the door.

Kisuke reaches up and rests a hand on his hat. “I know you can still feel it. The loss. Both of them. Half your soul and your wings.” He pauses before admitting, reluctantly, shamefully, “I don’t understand.”

Ichigo’s wings flutter in Kisuke’s peripheral vision, even if Ichigo can’t see them, only the gigai Kisuke is wearing. Still, Kisuke’s taken painstaking care to keep each feather clean, preening them almost obsessively on a daily basis.

They’re Ichigo’s wings. He can’t get them dirty.

“What’s not to understand?” Ichigo’s turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked. “You needed them. I didn’t.”

Kisuke does flinch this time.

Ichigo sighs. “Look, it’s not like I can fly as a human anyway. And you were going to die.”

“Then you should have let me die,” Kisuke says harshly. “I would have let you die if it meant killing Aizen-san. Arguably, I’ve done something even worse.”

Ichigo stares at him. He doesn’t get angry, even though Kisuke wishes he would, wishes he’d at least show some resentment, show _something_ to indicate just how much he blames Kisuke for his current predicament.

But all Ichigo does is watch him, brow furrowed, forever frowning, but there’s not a speck of rage there.

“That’s not how it works,” He eventually says. “We’re not in some kind of competition over who can fuck each other up more.”

“I’ve planned your whole life up to this point, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke presses on, taunting, goading, searching for the accusation that should be there, a reaction he’ll be able to understand. “You were created to be our sacrifice before you were even born. You had a chance to get back at me. You should have-”

“That’s not up to you,” Ichigo cuts him off, and this time he sounds annoyed. “It was my choice. Just because you decide to do something to me doesn’t mean I have to do something back to you. And don’t make me sound like some kind of poor mindless puppet. Yeah, I guess you did set me up so that I didn’t have much of a choice when it came to fighting Aizen, but I did still have one. You didn’t _make_ me face him.”

He falls silent for several nerve-racking seconds before tacking on quietly, “You didn’t make me give you my wings either.” Kisuke fingers go white as they clench down around the brim of his hat. Ichigo drives the point home. “I chose to give them to you.”

Something coils tight and hot in Kisuke’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “You _shouldn’t have_.”

Ichigo rolls his eyes. “Well, I did anyway so suck it up and deal. If you’re gonna be pissed, at least be pissed about not getting your consent first before Unohana-san went through with extensive surgery.”

“That hardly matters compared to-”

“Then this doesn’t matter either-”

“It was the height of stupidity-”

“That’s sort of my thing these days-”

“ _Nobody_ gives up their wings for a reason-”

“Some people did, I read-”

“Family, loved ones, and even then it is rare, but I am neither-”

“I didn’t want you to die, alright?!” Ichigo finally shouts. “Or suffer like I- Losing part of your soul fucking sucks! I didn’t want you to go through that!”

“It shouldn’t matter to you-”

“Well that’s absolute bullshit-”

“ _I didn’t ask you to!_ ” Kisuke snarls at last, hand dropping from his hat, head snapping up, and the helpless rage he's been holding back burns in his chest.

Ichigo’s mouth twists. “You didn’t have to. That’s my fucking point, Urahara-san.”

The shop goes silent in the next moment, save for the way they’re both breathing hard, emotion snapping between them. It stretches for so long that Ichigo eventually breaks it with a weary sigh and takes a step back before turning on his heel, reaching for the door once more.

“I should go,” He mutters. “I’ll see you around. Or not, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t.”

Ichigo stops, and then glances back with wary eyes. Kisuke doesn’t meet his gaze. He reaches for his hat again instead and takes it off, fiddling with it for a moment before slowly folding himself to the floor, knees hitting hardwood with a muffled thump. He drops his hat to the side, eyes lingering on the primary flight feathers that have curved forward in a pseudo-embrace. Then, without a word, he casts his pride aside, bends forward, and folds himself into dogeza.

“I am sorry,” He says softly, eyes lowered to the ground in front of his face. “For the role I played in manipulating your life this way. I am sorry that I made you bear the responsibility of correcting so many mistakes you should never have had to carry. And perhaps you did have a choice, but I am sorry for limiting those choices and forcing you into making one of them in the first place.” He closes his eyes. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor am I asking for it. I just want you to know - I regret what I did to you, and not just because you gave me your wings. But I do regret it more, because you thought I was still someone worth giving up your wings for.”

He falls silent. He has no more words. He’s never been all that good with them, not when he isn’t using them to persuade or manipulate. He doesn’t know what else to say now.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it makes him start, eyes flashing open.

“You’re forgiven,” Ichigo says gruffly from somewhere above him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Now quit that and get up.”

A hand around his arm tugs him up, and Kisuke follows in something of a daze.

His life has never been this easy. Something always goes wrong.

But Ichigo is watching him with something unbearably fond and just a touch embarrassed.

He’s still not angry.

A hat falls on his head, and when Kisuke pushes it up, Ichigo is toeing off his shoes again. “Kurosaki-san…?”

“I’m staying for dinner,” Ichigo announces and proceeds to drag him back to the kitchen. “What do you want me to make?”

Dinner is more awkward than Kisuke is used to. Ichigo has stayed over for meals before, and conversation between them grew comfortable over time. Still, it isn’t too awkward now, mostly quiet, with Ichigo stubbornly powering through it while Kisuke inwardly marvels that Ichigo’s stayed at all.

He didn’t even get an elbow to the face this time.

“I’m going to fix it,” He says abruptly as dinner is winding down.

Ichigo pauses, halfway through drinking his tea. “What?”

“Your powers,” Kisuke clarifies. “I’m going to restore them. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t even know how yet, but I already started researching for a way when you were still unconscious. I’ll find a way.”

Ichigo stares wide-eyed at him, like he never expected Kisuke to offer. And then he straightens and clears his throat, and a light that’s been missing from his eyes returns, life and fire and hope most of all.

“I can’t give you back your wings though,” Kisuke adds, and something in him finally breaks and mourns for the impossibility. “I would if I-”

“They’re yours,” Ichigo interjects, and Kisuke still doesn’t understand, doesn’t know how Ichigo can say that with so much certainty and not a hint of condemnation. “I gave them to you, so just take care of them, take care of yourself, and we’ll call us even.”

Kisuke suppresses a shuddering exhale. His hand comes up without thought, fingers combing gently through silk-soft feathers. Ichigo follows the motion, and all he does is quirk a smile.

“I’ll fix what I can,” Kisuke murmurs.

“I know. Thanks, Urahara-san,” Ichigo tells him, even though Kisuke hasn’t accomplished anything yet.

“No,” Kisuke murmurs around his own cup of tea. His gaze remains on Ichigo, unwavering. His wings, _Ichigo’s_ wings, flare behind him, a brilliant seraphic white that shimmers with the faintest hues of gold under the kitchen lights. “Thank _you_ , Ichigo.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> absolem0 drew the fanart piece for me! You can reblog it from [here](http://absolem0.tumblr.com/post/175721299504/so-this-gorgeous-story-what-is-a-gift-what-is-a).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [what is reality? (what is a lie?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802041) by [Starrie_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf)




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